


Holy Retribution

by HipHopAnonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Figging, Gen, Hot Saucing Kind Of, Inappropriate Use of Holy Water, M/M, Non-Sexual Spanking, Other, Paddling, Punishment, Reference to Switching, Spanking, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: Aziraphale is not happy when Crowley speaks ill of himself, and though he's let the demon off with warnings in the past, a proper, thorough punishment is finally delivered.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	Holy Retribution

Crowley knew he was in trouble before the words had even finished tumbling out of his foolish mouth. He immediately snapped his lips shut, but the damage was done.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded, peering over his reading glasses at Crowley in a way that made the demon’s insides all wriggly. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Sssorry! I jusssst …” Crowley huffed out a breath, frustrated at how _hissy_ he always got when he was nervous. “Oh, you know I didn’t mean it!”

Crowley had slipped. He had a terrible habit of self-deprecation that made Aziraphale inexplicably furious. Aziraphale had promised a 'most unpleasant comeuppance' should Crowley continue to speak ill of himself, but unfortunately, old habits die hard, and Crowley had gotten careless and forgotten to bite his forked tongue before calling himself some choice phrases that Aziraphale apparently could not tolerate.

“I don’t care if you meant it or not, Crowley. You said it, nonetheless. I’ve told you again and again not to disparage yourself or your worth.” Aziraphale frowned, his face darkening. “Not only are you insulting yourself, but also me, since I hold you in the highest regard. Do you really believe me to be a fool for loving you?”

 _Yes._ Crowley knew better than to say _that,_ though, so he crossed his arms, looking down as he awkwardly scuffed the toe of one shoe against the floor. “Awww, come on, Angel. S’no big deal.”

“No big deal? You’ve been warned what would happen if I heard you speaking ill of yourself again.”

Crowley’s golden eyes snapped up, wide and panicked. It was sounding like he was in trouble for real this time. “N-no, please, Angel!” He took a step backwards, holding up his hands and pleading fruitlessly before Aziraphale’s stern expression. “I won’t do it again. I ssswear!”

Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes, clearly working on controlling his anger, which was not at all a good sign. Things were looking bad for Crowley. With frightening calm, Aziraphale shut the book that had been lying open on his lap and set it aside. He pulled off his glasses, folded them neatly, and placed them on top of the book. “The fact that you don’t see why it’s a big deal is even more reason for me to punish you. Come on, Crowley. I’m not going to let you slither out of discipline this time. Fetch the jar from my bedside table and bring it here.”

Crowley balked. “Please, no! You don’t need to use _that_. I’ll be good! Just … just … you can s-sssspank me right now!” He rushed forward, making as though to go across Aziraphale’s lap, but Aziraphale stopped him with a firm hand to his shoulder.

“No, Crowley. I’ve let you off too easily too many times. You’ve said so yourself. I think it’s time for a proper punishment. The jar, please. _Now._ ”

Crowley’s heart hammered. He’d agreed to this, he knew, but that had been ages ago, when he wasn’t facing down the barrel of the disciplinary gun. Now that the time had come to pay the piper, and Aziraphale was sitting there prepared to carry through, resolute and unyielding, Crowley sort of wanted to bolt. He briefly considered giving his fingers a snap and transporting himself to a nice beach off the coast of Italy; or just turning tail to run straight out the book shop door, into the Bentley, and back home. Anywhere else but the bookshop was preferable at the moment. Absolutely anywhere that he wouldn’t have to face the unpleasant (and painful!) experience of punishment, and worse: the lesson, the repentance and the _feelings_. Crowley shuddered.

Running away would be foolish, though, he knew. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, and Crowley relented, shoulders slumping as he stomped off in a reluctant huff to retrieve _the jar_ per Aziraphale’s request.

“The bratty attitude isn’t doing you any favors, Crowley,” Aziraphale called after him in warning, and Crowley forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down, nipping the stomping in the bud.

Crowley slowly opened the drawer of Aziraphale’s bedside table. The mishmash of items inside were strewn about in the same disorganized manner as the rest of the bookshop (though Aziraphale would insist he knew where everything was, and refused to tidy up to Crowley’s satisfaction even after _Nanny Ashtoreth_ herself had spanked him for it!) Unfortunately, the drawer wasn’t in such disarray that Crowley wasn’t able to easily locate _the jar_. It was small and contained a clear, gooey substance that made Crowley’s face heat and the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The substance was a concoction of Aziraphale’s own making; a mixture of oil and water (and Heaven knows what else!) in order to heavily dilute just enough holy water to make for a most excruciating lesson when applied to a demon’s flesh.

Miserable with apprehension, Crowley gingerly picked up the jar and brought it back to Aziraphale who he found perched at attention in the chair waiting for him. Aziraphale took the jar, clasping Crowley’s hand in his before the demon could yank it away, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s chest twinged. “I’m doing this for your own good.”

Crowley very nearly rolled his eyes, but quickly thought better and nodded instead.

“Now,” Aziraphale said, sitting up straight and looking serious. “Stick out your tongue.”

Feeling ridiculous, Crowley did, cheeks pinkening in shame at submitting to such a childish punishment. Aziraphale twisted open the jar, and scooped out a dollop of the gelatinous diluted holy water with his finger, depositing the substance directly onto the center of Crowley’s tongue. At first, it was only unpleasantly bland, tasting like oily nothing, but after a few moments, Crowley’s tongue began to _sting_. The heat rose until it was far worse than the hottest pepper or hot sauce. The holy water was diluted enough that it wouldn’t _really_ hurt him, he knew, but it sure felt like it was about to burn a hole right through his tongue!

“Looks like that’s heating up nicely. A good reminder for that naughty tongue not to disparage my best friend and lover,” Aziraphale said with a humorless grin. “Time to get undressed. You know the drill — everything from the waist down, please.”

Crowley might have blushed further at being ordered to undress for his impending spanking (which he had already guessed was coming, but was now absolutely certain about!), but he was too distracted by the holy water searing his tongue. The entire inside of his mouth felt as though it was engulfed in flames, and his eyes began to water uncontrollably as he toed out of his shoes and unfastened his belt. By the time he had tossed his underpants aside and was standing bared before Aziraphale, he was sniffling, uncertain whether the tears were from the burning in his mouth or from the embarrassment and hurt of needing to be punished so severely.

“Come here,” Aziraphale beckoned Crowley with his finger, and Crowley came to stand in front of him. Even though Aziraphale had seen Crowley naked countless times before, and Crowley was rarely shy about his body to begin with, Crowley cupped his effort to hide it, feeling more exposed while only bare below the waist than he ever did while completely naked. Enjoying himself in the throes of passion was decidedly different from the shame of baring his bottom half for a spanking.

“Turn around,” Aziraphale ordered, giving his finger a little twirl. Crowley obeyed and then stood there with his skinny rump facing Aziraphale, heart pounding, uncertain what the angel had planned. “Bend over. That’s right. Now reach back with both hands and spread yourself open for me.”

Crowley whipped his head around, the realization settling over him as heavy as lead. _Aziraphale could_ not _be serious!_

“Come on,” Aziraphale coaxed gently, though his tone left no room for argument. “I want this to be a lesson you remember. Pull those little cheeks open. I won’t ask again.”

With a shuddering sniffle, Crowley did, fresh tears welling in his eyes from the insufferable burning of his tongue as well as the unbearable humiliation of spreading his buttocks wide open for Aziraphale to ... Crowley gasped as Aziraphale began unceremoniously applying a generous amount of the holy water mixture along his exposed crack. Aziraphale’s slippery finger slid up and down until it stopped right at Crowley’s little pucker-hole and _pushed inside_. Aziraphale then roughly thrust and worked his finger as he coated Crowley’s most intimate and delicate parts inside and out with the cruel substance.

The gooey liquid felt cold, wet, and unpleasant after Aziraphale withdrew his finger, leaving Crowley awkwardly bent and open, but the holy water quickly went to work and Crowley’s poor arsehole suddenly erupted into flames. There was no hope of bearing this amount of pain stoically, so Crowley gave in and bent his knees, wiggled, and stomped his feet, hissing and practically clawing at his buttocks and stretching them impossibly wide open in a futile attempt to cool the fiery agony between them.

“All right,” Aziraphale finally said, “Enough fussing. Hands on your head and march yourself to the corner to think about why you’re being punished.”

Crowley practically limped to the corner. Corner-time was terrible at the best of times — embarrassing and boring — but it was absolute torture while being scorched and scalded at both ends as he was now. He could have sworn his tongue was swollen thrice its size with the heat, and he felt as though his bottom was throbbing around a red hot poker. Tears streamed down his cheeks now, and he put his nose in the corner, feeling terribly sorry for himself. Surely Crowley was never _this_ mean to Aziraphale when the tables were turned and the demon was the one punishing the angel?! Although Crowley had to admit that Aziraphale was far more likely to let him off the hook. Crowley was overdue for some serious discipline, but that didn’t make taking it any less unpleasant!

Fortunately (or unfortunately!) Aziraphale didn’t make Crowley wait for long, no doubt wanting to avoid the holy water losing its potency before the punishment had even fully begun. Aziraphale cleared his throat and called Crowley out of the corner, and Crowley padded on his bare feet, wincing at the burn between his bottom-cheeks that was renewed with every movement. His eyes widened when he realized that Aziraphale was already holding the paddle. He had no idea if Aziraphale had gotten up to retrieve it or miracled it directly into his hand, though. Apparently the holy water had worked its magic and kept his undivided attention while in the corner.

Crowley recognized the paddle at once since it was the one they shared. It was not overly large; perhaps only a bit bigger than a hairbrush; oval, wooden, and terribly deceptive since he knew it packed a mean bite. Crowley was familiar with it’s deep, penetrating sting, though its business end had met Aziraphale’s plump backside far more often than Crowley’s scrawny one. Even so, this paddle could certainly smite a demon’s bottom just as well as an angel’s! Suffice it to say that Crowley was not looking forward to the paddling he was about to receive.

Aziraphale patted his lap and said, “Over you go,” and so Crowley had no choice but to drape himself across Aziraphale’s thick, sturdy thighs and shimmy into a suitable position for spanking; one in which he was off-balance and his bare bottom was propped up high and vulnerable, presenting the perfect target for that wicked paddle! Aziraphale gave Crowley’s bottom a few little taps with said paddle before letting it rest gently against his naked flesh. The cool, hard wood pressed up against his skin served as a pointed reminder that it was about to be soundly applied to that exposed skin very soon, and Crowley couldn’t help but flinch in anticipation. The holy water up his bottom flared hot, though, and he stilled at once, gulping in a deep breath of air as tension danced over his nervous, clammy skin.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” Aziraphale scolded, ignoring Crowley's suffering. “I should have spanked you long before now for this, Crowley, and for that, I apologize. This spanking is something you sorely need, and you will now finally receive it.”

After the brief lecture, the paddle lifted from Crowley’s backside only to return with a blowtorch hot _WHAP!_ hard against his left buttock. A second blow landed almost immediately after the first, but to his right cheek. The paddle was, infuriatingly, the perfect size to scald the whole of one of Crowley’s small buttocks in one swat, and so Aziraphale merely had to move it easily back and forth, and back and forth, over and over and _over_ in order to quickly light a punishing fire across Crowley’s entire bottom.

It was a sound, no-nonsense paddling that Aziraphale was taking very seriously, as he did everything of great importance, and apparently, making sure that Crowley was thoroughly punished was a thing of great importance. After all, Crowley had indicated himself that it was important during all those late night whispered conversations and deeply personal confessions. At the moment, however, Crowley was regretting ever agreeing to submitting to the angel’s discipline. The excruciating pace of the spanking was taking Crowley’s breath away so much so that he hadn’t yet been able to make a sound even though his bottom was already ablaze. He had only managed to gasp and gape silently thus far.

That soon changed as Crowley finally found his voice, yelping and shouting at each burning smack of the paddle. Aziraphale had either forgotten just how painful a paddling on the bare bottom was, or he simply didn’t care. Crowley was a demon — a supernatural entity — and so Aziraphale knew very well that he didn’t have to hold back. And he didn’t. _The bastard,_ Crowley thought with affection — just before Aziraphale turned his attention to the sensitive undercurve of Crowley’s small rump, mercilessly whacking away at his delicate sit-spots, and then Crowley could think of nothing beyond _shitfucksonofaouchowwwwwww!!!_

His body’s instinct was to clench his little buttocks tightly in defense against the relentless paddling, but unfortunately, the holy water substance inside his arsehole made that option unbearable as each and every time he clenched, a renewed flare of searing hot agony burst inside the delicate channel. As such, Crowley tried to keep as still as he could which was, of course, damn near impossible with Aziraphale wailing away against his naked arse with that evil paddle! It was humiliating, but Crowley begged, though if it made any difference in the speed and ferocity of the paddling, Crowley certainly did not notice. As if to demonstrate his refusal to grant mercy, Aziraphale aimed for the backs of Crowley’s thighs. Crowley’s begging turned quickly to hissing and then to howling. Finally, Crowley gave in completely, wriggling his narrow hips and kicking his legs as he wailed, his poor hide one big ball of fiery torment. At this point, Crowley barely even noticed the burn in his mouth since a three-alarm fire had been lit and was blazing out of control across his backside.

The paddle just kept smacking down again and again, burning up every inch of Crowley’s bottom and thighs. Aziraphale even got in a few good whacks to his _inner_ thighs when Crowley was foolish enough to scissor his legs open and expose that extra-tender flesh to the paddle! Crowley clutched the legs of the chair to keep from reaching back, knowing an attempt to cover and protect his tortured bottom would only incite further punishment. Instead, he blubbered loudly as he was paddled for what felt like an endless amount of time. It wasn’t until Crowley lay limply defeated and weeping over Aziraphale’s lap that Aziraphale relented, finishing up with a few hard _waps!_ and then setting the paddle aside. Crowley continued to cry as he felt Aziraphale’s soft hand rubbing over his throbbing, scalded buttocks, which Crowley was quite certain matched the color of his hair at the moment. Aziraphale murmured reassurances, shushing Crowley’s tears and patting his back until the sobs resided and Crowley lay sniffling and hiccupping, his bottom still turned up over Aziraphale's lap like two rosy red round apples, a perfect picture of well-spanked contrition.

Aziraphale maneuvered Crowley until he was sitting up, and he eagerly cuddled in Aziraphale’s lap, burrowing his face against his soft chest as the tears continued to slowly fall. His bottom ached, still stinging hot, and Crowley knew the skin would be bruised for days (he wouldn’t dare heal it!) The heat in his mouth had begun to dissipate so that his tongue was merely parched; and the potency of the fire in his bottom-hole and crease had thankfully begun to wane, as well, settling into a burning, itchy irritation that was unpleasant, but no longer unbearable.

“I know I was extra hard on you,” Aziraphale said, holding Crowley tightly in such a way that made Crowley feel particularly loved and cared for in spite of the ruthless punishment he had just received. Perhaps _because of_ that, even, Crowley had to admit. “But I don’t want to have to repeat this lesson again,” Aziraphale continued and Crowley’s face paled at the thought. Aziraphale gave him a stern look. “That being said, I won’t hesitate if I need to, and next time I will spank you even harder and longer — with a reapplication of the contents of the jar in the middle.” After a moment of thought, Aziraphale added, “I can even rub a bit of it on your effort if need be. I’ll bless the paddle, too, Crowley, I swear!”

Crowley shook his head frantically, eyes wide. “No! No! I’ll be good, I promisssse!”

“Good!” Aziraphale said, smiling and pressing a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and hugging him close again.

The steady pulse of Aziraphale’s heartbeat beneath Crowley’s ear seemed to match the throbbing warmth of Crowley’s bottom, and he was eventually lulled to sleep; well-spanked and very well cared for by an angel who Crowley now knew for certain would not hesitate to take him in hand when needed.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HipHopAnonymou9)
> 
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